By Lizbette Ocasio-Russe
The Elixir
Aida heard Antonio’s belly grumble and bubble as she scooped forkfuls of egg into her mouth. Her brother Antonio had spent longer than usual in the bathroom getting ready for school this morning, and the foul stench she encountered when she entered after him made her believe he had diarrhea. At ten years old, Aida was no medical expert, but growing up as the youngest of six rambunctious siblings taught her something about injury and illness.
The eggs were fluffy and salty, just like Aida and her brother like, but Antonio wasn’t eating any. This only confirmed Aida’s suspicions about him having diarrhea. The grumbling of Antonio’s stomach competed with the voice of the radio host from WKAQ, Puerto Rico’s premier station.
“Tensions continue to rise as agricultural workers across the island join Albizu Campos in the fight for better wages and working conditions. Will 1934 be the year the jíbaro beats the Goliath that is the sugarcane industry? More on the protests after this commercial break.”
Aida did her best to block it out. She didn’t understand why her mother listened so intently to something as boring as the news. Egg fell from her fork onto her pretty pink dress, the one her mother saved for Easter Sundays, holiday celebrations, and picture days like today. She hurriedly brushed it off and studied the spot for any sign of soiling. Phew, close call. Aida looked to see if her mother noticed the incident. She hadn’t. She was too busy listening to the news and watching Antonio through squinty eyes the color of shallow ocean. She suspected something was wrong despite his efforts to hide it.
Normally, Antonio would’ve been happy to stay home from school, but today he was supposed to present the poem he composed for his 9th grade Spanish class which won the Literary Week poetry contest. He titled it “Puerto Rico Weeps.”
“Antonio, no estás comiendo. You haven’t touched your eggs.”
Antonio’s stomach grumbled louder.
“I’m not very hungry.” He pushed his eggs around the plate avoiding eye contact with his mother.
His mother gave a drawn-out “hmmm,” stood up, and walked around the table to her son. She placed a hand on his forehead.
“Well, you don’t have a fever.”
“I think he has diarrhea,” Aida said through a mouthful of eggs.
“Aida, please finish chewing, no entendí nada.”
“I said,” Aida swallowed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, “that I think he has diarrhea.”
Antonio whipped his head around to glare at his little sister who despite shared DNA, looked nothing like him. Aida sometimes wondered if that was the reason he was always so snippy toward her. Their mother looked at Aida, then at Antonio.
“Antonio, you’ll have to stay home until we can get you something to fix that up. We can’t have a repeat of last time.” Their mother shook her head at the thought making the rogue curl that had escaped her sky-blue headscarf sway.
Last time Antonio’s sensitive stomach acted up was a few years ago; the entire family was on their way to church. They were fifteen minutes into their 25-minute walk when the smell hit them. Aida’s father thought about getting a 32’ Ford after that, but it was too expensive. The walk to school was just as long and presented the same danger.
“Mami, por favor, I’m reading my poem today. I can’t miss it!” Antonio worked his puppy-dog eyes.
Their mother thought for a moment, then looked at Aida, who was carrying her empty plate to the sink.
“We’re out of elixir paregórico, but If Aida leaves now to get the medication, she can return in time for you to make your presentation.”
Aida dropped her plate in the basin of soap and water and watched it sink just like her heart in her chest.
“But Ms. Raquel promised to bring quesitos for the class this morning because we did good on the last math test.”
“Aida, I know quesitos are your favorite, but your brother needs you. Your father is already off helping Mr. Albizu Campos with the protest, and your sisters aren’t here.”
Aida recalled her father saying something about the protests during dinner last night when her mother warned him it might be dangerous. Her father had looked at her mother with his dark brows furrowed and stated, “si no protestamos, nada cambia.” Her mother didn’t speak on the issue any further, and although Aida was curious about why her father would do something dangerous on purpose, the seriousness in his eyes encouraged her to remain silent.
In the absence of Aida’s father, one of her sisters would usually be sent instead of Aida, but her sisters left for school early this morning. They said they wanted to cool off from the walk before school started. Sweaty girls aren’t attractive girls, and it’s picture day. Looking any less than perfect was not an option.
“Mami, no, por favor, Aida forgets everything. Last week, she forgot our address.” Antonio rubbed his stomach.
Aida’s head dropped, her eyes focused on the floor beneath her black charol shoes, her nicest shoes. Their mother waved off Antonio’s concern and approached her deflated daughter.
“Aida, ven acá.” Her mother reached for her and brushed a curl much like her own out of her daughter’s face. “Do you think you can do this for your brother?”
Aida sighed, “Pero mami, what if I forget the name of the medication?” Her eyes shifted to her brother gripping his stomach as another gurgling sound emanated.
“You can do it, mi amor. Just go to Rivera’s pharmacy and tell Señor Rivera that I need elixir paregórico. Repítelo.”
Aida repeated, “Elixir paregórico.”
“One more time.”
“Elixir paregórico.”
“Excellent. Now keep repeating it until you get there.” Her mother smiled. “Go on, now. Your brother will be unbearable if he doesn’t get to read his poem and don’t dirty your dress. I want presentable school pictures this year.”
Her mother handed Aida some money, which she promptly shoved into her sock where all precious things are placed for safe travels and sent her off with a kiss.
“Ten cuidado! Straight there and back! ¡Que la Virgen te proteja!”
Elixir paregórico, elixir paregórico Aida repeated as she walked down the street lined with flamboyan trees, her favorite. At least it was a nice walk to the pharmacy. Now in spring, the trees were ablaze in the morning light with their bright, sunset-red petals fluttering in the soft breeze that carried the scent of café and pan sobao. Aida inhaled deep, a smile stretching across her face as she imagined how lovely a nap under those trees must be.
“¡Buenos días, Aida!”
Aida jumped and turned to see her godfather, Toti, waving in the distance with his dog Chiqui by his side. She was surprised Toti wasn’t at work farming, but out watering his hibiscus plants, his wide-brimmed hat sitting low on his dark brow. Aida couldn’t remember a time when Toti hadn’t worn that wide-brimmed hat bleached by endless sun.
“Buenos días, padrino. Bendición.” Aida smiled and waved at her godfather. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“Farmers are protesting. None of us are working.”
“That must be what Mami and Papi were talking about. Mami is worried about Papi. She says it’s dangerous.”
“Dangerous but necessary. Your daddy is fighting to get us more money and better working conditions. Problem is the authorities don’t like that too much.”
Aida’s forehead wrinkled in thought. She figured Papi was helping people, and that’s important, but is it worth possibly getting hurt? Also, why don’t the people in charge want to help?
Chiqui ran to Aida, offering her a slobbery greeting. “No, Chiqui! I can’t get dirty! It’s picture day!” Aida shooed Chiqui away.
Chiqui whined and sat down, her expressive eyes guilting Aida, who succumbed and bent down to stroke Chiqui’s soft fur.
“That’s a good old girl.”
Chiqui shook her tale with the enthusiasm of a puppy despite her many years.
“Come inside and say hello to your godmother. She just made some quesitos.” Toti motioned for Aida to join him.
¡Quesitos! Her godmother’s quesitos were the most delicious on the island, everyone said so. They had the perfect cheese-to-pastry ratio and the glaze on top was never scarce.
There’s no way Ms. Raquel’s quesitos are better than madrina’s. She just moved here from far away to be our teacher. Some place with a name so strange I swear it’s made up: Miss Pipi, something like that. My madrina has been making quesitos since before I was born.
Surely stopping for five minutes wouldn’t derail Aida’s mission. She began making her way toward her godparent’s house, then stopped. Straight there and back! Her mother’s voice echoed in her head. How do parents do that?
Elixir paregórico, elixir paregórico. She mustn’t be distracted by sweets; Antonio and Mami were counting on her.
“I’m sorry, padrino, I can’t. I have to get to the pharmacy.”
“Is everything alright?”
“Oh yes, Antonio just has diarrhea. Tell Madrina I said hello!”
Toti chuckled as he watched his goddaughter continue on her way.
Elixir paregórico, elixir paregórico. Aida spoke the words, a meditative mantra of determination. The panadería came into view, and Aida knew she was halfway there. So far, so good. Today might be the day Aida rewrites her role in the family. Elixir paregórico, elixir paregó—
“¡Mierda!”
The cuss word snapped Aida out of her meditation. It was a classmate she hadn’t seen in a few weeks, Hector. He was struggling with a toppled cart of groceries. Produce, eggs, bread, café, milk, his entire haul was on the ground surrounding the cart. Without hesitation, Aida ran over to him.
“Hector! Let me help you.”
Hector looked up, the frustration on his face turning to joy. “Aida!” he welcomed her with a hug.
“It’s good to see you! You haven’t been to school. Where have you been? You know Ms. Raquel is bringing quesitos for everyone today!” Aida went to work collecting the rogue grocery items.
The joy faded from Hector’s face.
“I’ve been working at the mercado ever since Papi got hurt working in the sugar cane fields.” He righted the toppled cart. “Another worker wasn’t paying attention and swung his machete into Papi’s leg.”
Aida gasped and dropped the plantains she had been gathering. They landed with a squish in the mud surrounding her feet, flecks of brown spattering on her shoes.
“It wasn’t the other guy’s fault; at least, that’s what Dad said. He says it was too hot, and they had been working for too long.”
“That’s awful.” Aida grimaced as she imagined the crimson blood coating the sugar cane stalks. “Is he going to be alright?”
“He says he’ll be back at work in no time, but I don’t know.”
Aida picked up the plantains ignoring how muddy they were. She placed them in the cart and hugged Hector, leaving little brown handprints on his back. He returned the hug, resting his head on her shoulder. She felt wetness through the fabric of her pink dress and squeezed him tighter. Then she noticed the skirt of her dress and shoes. The pit of her stomach fell. Don’t dirty your dress. I want presentable school pictures this year. Aida thought of letting go to fully assess the damage but didn’t.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your dad, but don’t worry. Mi Papi is fighting to make it better with Señor Campos. He will fix it.” She closed her eyes and said a little prayer.
Her mother always said God pays special attention to children’s prayers. But if that’s true, how could Hector’ family be going through something so terrible? Aida made a mental note to say an extra prayer for her father and godfather, Toti.
When they finally released the embrace, mud glared up at Aida from her shoes and the skirt of her pretty pink dress.
“Thanks for helping me with this mess.” Hector grabbed the cart, now full again, and stumbled off, barely able to handle the weight.
Aida watched Hector for a second, then set off to the pharmacy. Elixir paregórico, elixir paregórico. A loud grunt made her turn around. Hector wasn’t managing the cart well; it threatened to topple again. A sickening feeling grew in her stomach as she walked away from her friend. It started deep in the pit of her stomach and worked its way up through her sternum and throat until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Wait.” Aida caught up to Hector and gripped one side of the cart. “Let me help you.”
Hector smiled at her, and they made their way to his home, ten minutes out of her way.
“Gracias, Aida.” Hector pushed the grocery cart in through the doorway to his small home.
“De nada, amigo.” Aida peered around Hector to get a better look inside.
His father was asleep on a tattered couch in the small living room, which doubled as a kitchen where his mother was diligently scrubbing dishes. The bandage on his leg had red and yellow stains, it needed changing, and he looked far too thin in Aida’s opinion. His skin was pale, his cheeks hollow, more shadow than man. Her stomach twisted into a knot. What would happen to her family if something happened to her father? Would I have to work at the mercado too?
“Who’s that at the door with you, Hector?” His mother called from the kitchen.
“Just my friend Aida from school.”
“¿Aida Díaz? ¡Hola, Aida! Send my best to your mother, will you?”
“You got it, Señora Quintero.” Aida waved from her place at the door.
Hector took a mango from the grocery cart and offered it to Aida. “Anyway, thanks again for your help.”
“You don’t need to give me anything.” The thought of taking anything from this boy made her heart hurt.
“Por favor, in case you miss the quesitos.”
Aida smiled and took the mango. “Thanks, I probably will miss them. I still have to go to the pharmacy to get elixir paregórico for my brother’s diarrhea.”
Hector chuckled. “You better get going before he poops his pants. Thanks again.”
Aida set off jogging to the pharmacy with her mango in hand. She didn’t notice the money her mother had given her fall out of her muddy sock.
Aida burst into the pharmacy, a muddy ball of energy and sweat. Mr. Rivera, who was busy thumbing the day’s newspaper behind the counter, jumped at her entrance. Her chest heaved as she passed aisles of snacks, cleaning supplies, and novelty products on her way to Mr. Rivera.
“Buenos días, señorita. How can I help you?”
“I need—” she panted, “my brother—”
Aida reached into her sock and felt around for the money. Nothing. She plunged a hand into her other sock. Nothing.
“I dropped the money!” Her hands began to shake, and suddenly, the mud stains on her dress seemed to expand, covering more and more of her pretty pink dress.
Señor Rivera removed his glasses. “Take a deep breath, señorita. What do you need?”
Aida closed her eyes, filled her lungs to capacity, and released.
“I need . . .” Her eyes shot open.
What was the name of the medicine? Aida felt the tears coming, her face growing hot like the beach sand at el Balneario de Carolina in the summer. She wanted to hide. This was Aida’s chance to prove she was not a mess, and what did she do? She messed up. Maybe she could run away and her mother would never find out about the money, the dress, and her forgetfulness. She could start fresh somewhere new where no one thought she was a screw-up. It’s the only way out, Aida decided.
“Aida!”
She turned to find Hector standing behind her, his hand outstretched with a crumpled bill.
“You dropped this when you left my house. You need it to buy elixir paregórico, right?”
Aida’s eyes widened at the sight of her savior. She took the money and hugged Hector for the third time that day.
“Gracias, Hector! I owe you big time.”
“Are you kidding, you helped me enough today. Just take care of your brother’s diarrhea and save me some quesitos if you make it to school on time.” He offered Aida a half-hearted smile and made his way out of the pharmacy.
Aida watched Hector leave, the elation from recovering the cash and medication name dulling. Promising herself she’d do something about it later, Aida turned to face Señor Rivera and slammed the money on the counter.
“Elixir paregórico, please.”
Aida took a deep breath as she stood before the front door of her home. The wooden hand-crafted Virgin of Miracles her father had placed by the front door stared back at her. Maybe the Virgin would take pity and grant her a miracle. But in case she didn’t, Aida wanted to be prepared for the inevitable lecture on responsibility, the same one she always got when she messed up. The last time she got the lecture, she had forgotten her books at school. Her mother had gone on and on about the importance of taking education seriously.
“After all,” Aida’s mother had said, “I didn’t get to go to school, just my brothers. You shouldn’t take your privilege for granted.”
Aida said a little prayer to the Virgin, turned the doorknob, and pushed the front door open; it seemed heavier than usual. Her mother was waiting at the kitchen table.
“Where’s Antonio?” Aida gently shut the door behind her without making eye contact.
Aida’s mother looked her up and down.
“He’s in the bathroom, and you’re late. Did you make it to the pharmacy?”
Aida nodded and offered up the white paper bag with the elixir paregórico. Her mother took the bag and noted the mango in Aida’s other hand.
“Stay here, I need to talk to you after I give this to your brother.”
Aida sat at the table with her mango and waited; it was still a bit green and not quite ripe. Her heart pounded as fast and loud as her godfather’s elderly dog Chuiqui who had heart problems. Aida wondered if she too had developed heart problems not from age but from worry. When her mother walked back into the kitchen, Aida felt her heart might stop from overworking.
“Why did you take so long and why are you filthy? Your dress is ruined! Do you know how much it cost?”
“It’s not my fault—well, it is, but I was just—”
“I don’t want to hear it, Aida. We clearly can’t trust you with this kind of thing yet.”
Her mother’s words were a gut punch.
“Now, go change. You have to get to school.”
Aida resisted the incoming tears as her mother stormed off to check on Antonio.
Knock, knock, knock. Aida balanced a tray in one hand and knocked with the other on Hector’s front door, and this time she wasn’t muddy. She didn’t make it to school in time for Ms. Raquel’s quesitos, but Antonio made it in time to read his poem, and of that, she was proud, even if her mother wasn’t. She also suspected her school pictures turned out perfectly respectable, at least in comparison to other years’. Aida managed to keep her hair in place and the casual blue dress she ended up wearing dirt-free for the photos. She even managed to keep it clean while visiting her godparents and walking to Hector’s house after school.
The front door opened. Hector’s mother, Señora Quintero, stood in the frame, a kitchen towel hung on her shoulder. Her oily face shined in the afternoon sunlight dazzling Aida. She must be hard at work. Mami shines like that when she works hard.
“Aida, it’s good to see you again.” Señora Quintero wiped her face with the towel. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Aida raised the tray in her hands to show Señora Quintero the contents. “I didn’t make it to school in time for Ms. Raquel’s quesitos, but my godmother made some fresh this morning.”
The glaze on the quesitos glistened over the perfectly puffy pastry stuffed with rich cream cheese.
“Since Hector didn’t get quesitos at school either, I thought he might like some too.”
Señora Quintero took the tray with a small smile. “Gracias, Aida. That’s very thoughtful of you. Hector is out working right now, but I’ll make sure he gets them when he gets back.”
“Make sure to keep one for yourself and one for Mr. Quintero. My madrina’s quesitos are so good, I bet they’ll help Hector’s dad feel better.”
Señora Quintero’s eyes watered; she swallowed hard.
“Que Dios te bendiga, Aida.” She gave Aida’s shoulder a squeeze.
“¡Gracias! You too!” Aida turned and started walking back home, a sense of fullness and gratitude washing over her.
The sense of fullness faded as Aida approached her home. The lecture was cut short earlier; surely, there was more to come. Virgencita, please let my mother forgive me. Aida braced herself, and pushed the heavy, wooden door open. Her mother was busy preparing dinner, her back to the door.
“You’re later than expected again.” She turned to study her daughter. “At least you’re clean this time.”
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Aida thought about trying to explain to her mother, but that hadn’t gone over well earlier.
“Hector’s mother dropped by while you were at school.”
Aida tensed her muscles, snapped her head up, and fixed her gaze on her mother, searching for any indication of her mood; would she be mad about Aida’s detour after school? Sweat ran down her chest. She held her breath in anticipation.
“She told me how you helped her little boy on your way to the pharmacy. Is that how you got dirty?”
Aida nodded slowly. “He gave me this mango for helping him.” She pushed the mango she had left sitting on the dining table toward her mother without making eye contact.
“I’m proud of you, m’hija.” Aida’s mother hugged her. “You did the right thing.”
Aida exhaled, releasing her muscles and feeling her heartbeat subside. She hugged her mother back, taking in her familiar scent: kitchen soap, coffee, and Cruz de Malta from the garden.
At dinner that night, Aida told her family all about the day’s accomplishments; everyone except her father, who hadn’t arrived yet.
“I’m surprised you didn’t forget.” Antonio smirked as he ate a fried plantain.
“I’m surprised you didn’t poop your pants.” Aida bit back, making her sisters laugh.
“Settle down, you two. You should be grateful, Antonio. That wasn’t very lady-like of Aida, but she’s right.” Their mother shot Antonio a disciplining look.
Antonio scoffed.
“When is Papi coming home? I want to tell him about reading my poem today.”
Their mother was silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on the plate of bistec and tostones before her.
Aida stared at her mother, hoping she would somehow be able to read the thoughts locked away in her grown-up mind. As the silence extended, she imagined Hector’s father bleeding into the soil of a sugarcane field. An unexpected chill made Aida shiver.
Then, the front door opened, pulling everyone’s attention away from Aida’s silent mother.
“¡Papi!” All the children exclaimed in unison, as their father made his way into their home.
Aida was out of her chair in an instant, racing her siblings to their father. She had to fight extra to penetrate the circle of siblings surrounding her father. Once she managed to bust through, her father scooped her into a hug.
“How did it go, Papi? Did you win?”
Aida’s mother stood to join her family, the silence remaining but a smile visible on her face.
“Not yet, but we’re getting there.”
The next day at school, Aida sat at her wooden desk with her composition notebook and number two pencil waiting for Hector. Maybe her godmother’s quesitos helped Señor Quintero feel better. She prayed extra hard for the Quinteros the night before, but with five minutes left before school started, Hector’s desk was empty.
When Ms. Raquel called the class to attention, Hector’s desk was still empty. She adjusted her knee length-skirt, straightened her loose, purple blouse, and began.
“Bueynos díahs, estudiahnteys.” Despite Ms. Raquel’s efforts to sound native, her American accent dominated her diction.
“I have some unfortunate news this morning. Your classmate Hector lost his father last night. The service will be held in three days. We ask that all of you keep him and his mother in your thoughts and prayers.”
It felt like Aida’s seat fell from under her; she was plummeting into a dark abyss where Ms. Raquel’s voice grew more and more distant. But I already prayed extra hard! How can he be gone? I saw him yesterday. Her forehead felt moist and hot, her mind swimming like she might pass out any second. Was she even breathing? She couldn’t tell.
“Aida?”
She heard her name and felt a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you alright?” Ms. Raquel’s eyes were wide with concern.
Aida nodded, trying to control her heaving chest.
The rest of the day blended and blurred. Everything felt too fast and too slow simultaneously, like a confusing dream where Aida was barely real and thin as paper; not even gravity could keep her from floating away.
The funeral was no different, a blur. All Aida could do was stare at Hector and Señora Quintero surrounded by red hibiscus flowers and white carnations. The flowers flitted in the gentle breeze that made the 85-degree weather bearable. The sky was endless blue, the sun unblocked by clouds, such a beautiful day for such a sad occasion. Her mother always said it’s not polite to stare, but she couldn’t help it. Aida had never seen such emotional carnage. It was beautiful in a way, or maybe that was just the flowers. Hector and his mother looked transformed somehow. She couldn’t quite figure it out, but she sensed they were different the same way she had sensed her sister was different when she came home late one night after being out with a boy. Hector made eye contact with Aida, jarring her out of her thoughts. Aida offered him a smile, but he looked away, refusing it. It didn’t hurt Aida’s feelings too much.
Later at home, her head hurt so badly that she was forced to lie down early.
“Don’t forget to pray for your friend,” her mother told her.
Aida rolled her eyes. Her prayers had changed since Señor Quintero passed. They became less recitation and more questioning and begging.
Why would you take his father? He didn’t do anything wrong. If good people can die like that, none of us are safe. Please don’t take me, please don’t take my Papi . . . Aida drifted to sleep.
Part II
The next day, Aida awoke to her mother’s gentle knocking. She was pleased that the pain in her head was no longer debilitating. There was still a slight throb, but it was manageable. She expected Hector’s pain wasn’t gone, but she hoped it would soon wane.
“Aida, levántate. I need your help. Your sisters and brother have already left, and your father is off with Mr. Campos again.”
Aida shot up in bed, her heart beating against her ribcage. “Is Papi all right?”
“Sí, mi amor. Calm down. I just need you to run an errand for me. Do you think you can handle it?”
Aida released a sigh and allowed her heart to settle. Then, she yawned and got out of bed.
“Sure, Mami. No problem. What do you need?”
Aida was relieved her mother only needed a few things from the bakery, nothing complicated like elixir paregórico. The overcast weather would make for a less sweaty walk too, although the lack of sun dimmed the flamboyans that just a few days ago were vibrant. Various signs had been stuck to their trunks, ‘Better dead than kneeling,’ ‘Demand fair treatment,’ ‘Resist the colonizer.” Aida didn’t know what a colonizer was, but preferring death over anything seemed crazy, especially after what happened to Hector’s father. Suddenly, Aida felt lightheaded. She leaned onto one of the flamboyans for support feeling the rough bark on her smooth skin. The image of her father’s lifeless body strewn atop dripping, scarlet sugarcane stalks, a machete hanging limp in his hand, flashed in her mind. She closed her eyes and shook her head hoping to dissipate the macabre visual. Will this feeling ever go away? Will Hector ever be okay?
Thinking of him, how he must be feeling, made her chest feel tight, like a pair of strong, spectral hands were pressing her back and chest together, moments away from crushing her ribcage and back ones. Her breath became shallow as the world reeled around her at high speed.
“Are you okay?”
Aida opened her eyes; it was Hector. Despite his words of concern, his stare was vacant. He looked like the little boy who had given her a mango, but he didn’t feel like him.
“No. Are you?”
Hector stared at her in silence, then looked away. Aida took a deep breath and removed her weight from the flamboyant that had been holding her up. Her legs were still a bit shaky, but she could stand.
“Do you want to walk to the bakery with me? Mom needs a few things.”
After another moment of silence, Hector said, “Okay.”
Aida started walking and Hector joined alongside her. She thought about asking him how his mother was doing, but a twinge in her stomach dissuaded her. Instead, she grabbed Hector’s hand. She felt his hand tighten around hers as they silently continued on their way.
Lizbette Ocasio-Russe is a Puerto Rican author currently working as an Assistant Professor of Creative Writing at Southern New Hampshire University. She is also the founder and Editor-in-Chief of the entertainment site PussyPopCulture.com. Lizbette’s work has been published in eTropic, Poui: The Cavehill Journal of Creative Writing, Moko: Caribbean Arts and Letters, Tonguas, Flash Fiction Magazine, Writing Texas, Corpus Christi Writers 2023, Mays Publishing, and South Hall Literary Magazine. Lizbette’s debut book, Loverbar, was published July 2023 by Flashpoint Publications.